Cursed
by Exic
Summary: Sirius Black is back from the Veil, suffering in solitude. Hermione Granger resurrected Sirius and now endures her own suffering. What they do not know is that the Veil was never meant to be opened. What sinister things formerly lurking only in that desolate shadow place will be revealed in the Wizarding World and how will that bring them together? AU. HG/SB. M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

'Sirius.'

It was a hissing echo in his ears as he fell backward. The ssss sounds were piercing, drawn out as if the Snake himself were calling to him.

His body was surrounded by intense pressure, causing his breath to be suspended, and his eyes to open wide and bulge in their sockets. It was as if the air around him had suddenly turned to thick, liquefied compression, and he fell backward so slowly.

Everything around him was warped and grey, grainy like an old film. He could faintly see the wispy curtain of the Veil he had just fallen through, fluttering from his graceless descent through them. Light from the other side was fading fast as the two pieces of the curtain came together, torturously slow to meet.

His heart pounded so hard, yet everything was so slow. He knew that the closing of the Veil meant the sealing of his fate; the darkness would envelop him, wrap him in its cold arms, arms so like those of the Death Eaters, eternally circling him.

His mind screamed at him to fight against the pressure. His arms and hands were outstretched toward the Veil, reaching desperately for the closing window of light. His hair was in a slow-motion flight around his face, almost blending with his darkening surroundings. As the moments raced sluggishly by and the light faded, blackness, distorting as ink, flooded his vision.

'No,' he thought desperately. 'No!' This singular word circled in his mind relentlessly as the Veil closed the centimeters it had left. The word got louder and louder, as he felt the sickly cold grasp of darkness taking its hold on him. "No!" He felt the word rip itself from his throat as the Veil sealed itself closed and he fell hopelessly backward...

"No!" Sirius screamed. The blackness surrounded him. "I won't go back!"

He struggled against whatever force it was that had its hold on him until he dazedly discovered the cold that had surrounded him had been replaced by warmth. His eyes snapped open to the pale white of moonlight breaking apart the darkness around him.

His bare chest heaved with his rasping gasps for air and his fists clenched tightly to the sheets that were tangled around him. He could feel his hair in tangles, knotted wildly around his face, and a cold sheen of sweat coated his unclothed upper body, partially due to the fact that every muscle on his body was tensed to fight against the nightmare darkness.

He blinked a few times to clear his eyes of sleep, which threatened to drag him back into his nightmares of the Veil and his entire body vibrated from the intensity of his fear and the vividness of the vision. He was subtly aware that he was currently at his family home, 12 Grimmauld Place, and that by all physical means, he was safe in his bed; however, despite this unarguable safety, his fists clenched tighter into the sheets and another scream ripped its way from his throat. It was an animalistic cry of desperation, raw emotion being torn from the center of his vulnerable soul and vibrating through his being, then through the dwelling.

He took no care of being quiet; he was alone, so utterly encased in solitude that he no longer even cared to stifle his wails. Neighbors were even unaware of him due to the magical wards hiding his location.

He let out another howl. The lonely, grim house screamed back at him. His chest heaved from the effort of his tensed muscles and exhausted lungs.

He would never be safe. Not really. Memories couldn't be run from.

Sirius awoke the next morning with his face squished against a pillow, stomach-down in his black bed. Bright daylight filtered through his window and revealed his messy room. The floor was covered in a hodgepodge of dirty clothes, parchment, food containers, and, among many other miscellaneous items, drained bottles of alcohol.

A fan circled lazily on his ceiling, and upon feeling its small draft, goose bumps adorned Sirius Black's pale flesh. He groaned, willing the fan to stop with his thoughts. The fan rebelliously continued on its trek around its axel, and another groan escaped the man's lips as he forced himself up with his arms. He disentangled himself from his black sheets and swung his legs over to sit on the edge of his bed.

His throat was on fire, ravaged by the screaming from the night before. He put his head in his hands and tried to wipe the memory of his nightmares from his mind; he put the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubbed furiously, trying to snuff out the residue of the intense darkness that still resided there.

He took a deep breath and scratched the thick stubble along his jaw. 'About time to shave again, I suppose,' he thought blandly. 'How long has it been now? Two, maybe three weeks?' He sighed into his hands.

Standing, he stretched his arms above him, rising to the tips of his toes. His ratty pajama bottoms were slung low on his hips and rolled up about halfway on his calves with his black wand tucked into the waist of them. He always kept his wand on his person. His hair was knotted and grazed his shoulders, and as he ran his fingers through it, he realized it was a few inches longer than he kept it in the past. Before. His mind began to wander, but he shook his head to bring it back in.

At the shake of his head, he felt the sharp twinges of an upcoming headache pierce his skull. 'Hangovers are a bitch, even after all these years,' he thought, gripping the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath.

He coughed at this inhale, finding that the stench of the home still repulsed him. His mother had filled the home with the smoke of Floo fires so often that it now reeked of the smell. Smoky like cigarettes, yet slightly sour like old milk. He wrinkled his nose and made a face as he shoved open his door and headed down the hallway toward the bathroom, which, inconveniently, was all the way on the other side of the wretched place.

He passed many closed doors as he made his way, opening none of them and ignoring the black and white photos that watched him and whispered to each other as he made his way. Some blackened spots were placed randomly along the walls where exceptionally talkative photos had met their untimely end. Sirius found that he had quite the temper when he drank Bulgarian vodka, and did not respond kindly to their rambling on his long, lonely nights of bottomless bottles.

Remembering this as he reached the end of the hall, he smirked and patted the largest burnt spot on the wall where his mother's shrieking image once hung. "Hello, mother," he said sarcastically as he passed, "You are looking lovely as I ever saw you this beautiful morning."

He could almost hear her abhorred sneering at him, and he chuckled darkly. He still could not remember what drunken spell finally obliterated the blasted portrait, but he did remember the first morning he woke to his hangover in blessed silence after the offending thing was removed. He almost smiled at the thought, but another wave of pain spiked through his skull and he groaned instead.

He exited the dining hall, complete with an unused dining table and places set at the table, and entered the kitchen, which was disheveled with dishes and food stacked up on all flat surfaces. It was painted this ugly yellow, and stained with the grey of smoke and dust. Sirius opened the dirty white refrigerator and removed a cold bottle of water, bringing it up to press against his forehead. He sighed as the cold seeped into his head, momentarily warding off the sharp tendrils of pain.

Just as he shut the door to the fridge and headed around a dirty table to the open bathroom door on his right, a popping and whirring could be heard from the door to the left.

"What the bloody..." he muttered, stopping automatically in his steps. It sounded like someone was attempting to Floo into his fireplace.

He pulled the wand from the waistband of his pants with an irritated growl. While he knew that he should be fearful that some unknown, uninvited guest was attempting to enter his living room, he was mostly just annoyed. Remembering how he rigged his fireplace, he smirked wickedly as he crossed the kitchen and entered the living room.

All the curtains in the living room were drawn, the light from the window only faintly glowing against the cracked leather couch facing it. A broken lamp was strewn on the floor at one end, gathering dust. The carpet had been ripped up from the floor at some point, and now scratched and worn wood floors could be seen.

Sirius approached his fireplace slowly. Where there used to be an open and constantly-roaring, cheery fire, he had magicked wooden planks to lock anyone out. Knowing that Floo fire could not burn it, it was evident that whatever undiscovered creature had attempted to enter his home was now trapped in the small fireplace.

Muffled sounds of dissent could be heard from behind the planks, and Sirius pointed his wand toward it.

"Who is it?" he asked sweetly.

"Bloody hell, Sirius, it's me," he heard someone snap. Though it was muffled, he recognized the voice. He huffed a sigh and used his wand to magically remove the planks. Nails flew backward, and Sirius had to dodge to his left to miss them as they stuck themselves into the opposite wall. The planks fell back and a rather ashy Harry Potter came tumbling out of the fireplace.

He was coughing and choking, sitting on his bottom in the middle of the floor, attempting to ruffle the ash out of his hair. 'Serves him right,' Sirius thought darkly to himself.

"What the fuck, Sirius?" Harry sputtered incredulously, pushing himself to his feet and wiping off his clothing. 'Auror black,' Sirius observed.

"Oh, you know, I'm just an old decrepit man, living alone," he said, looking at his wand and pretending to pick specs off of it. "I have to have some way of blocking off those who are unwelcome, or," his eyes flickered up at Harry, then back down, "-uninvited."

Harry's jaw tensed, understanding the older wizard's implication. "Unwelcome and uninvited, you say?" Harry asked quietly as he removed his glasses and focused on cleaning their lenses. "Your best friend's son, your own godson, has no place to visit you now?"

Sirius' jaw tightened at his words. His heart both constricted and melted slightly. He had not seen or heard from anyone for months, and now Harry chooses to visit, without so much as an owl in advance?

"What can I do for you, Harry?" Sirius asked begrudgingly, turning his back on the younger man, stuffing his wand back into his pants, and heading back to the kitchen. His water bottle sat abandoned on the table in his kitchen. He picked it up and took a long sip.

Harry followed him into the kitchen, taking in the untidy conditions indifferently. "How long has it been since you've cleaned around here?" he asked, half joking with a small smile. Sirius grinned and responded, "That would probably be since the last time anyone planned to visit." Harry's smile fell and he looked down at his feet. "Sirius, we would visit more often," he said quietly, trying to avoid the anger of his godfather. "But you know we've all been busy."

Sirius felt a prick at his heart and his lip twitched. He grinned wolfishly and said, "Yes, all those I care for are in high demand these days. Those that aren't already dead, anyway." His mind flashed to Remus Lupin and James Potter, his oldest and dearest friends. He wondered often if he would still be alone if their lives had been extended.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, it may be time we clean the place up again," he muttered, his eyes darting to the dirty dishes. "Anyway, Sirius, I came here for more than just... chit chat."

Sirius snorted and leaned back against the table. He raised his eyebrows at Harry. "Is there some place we could sit down?" Harry asked, touching his forehead, where his faded scar was. Sirius knew that this was a nervous habit. Sirius walked out of the kitchen and back through the dining hall, and into the hallway. Harry stopped short when he spotted the lack of portrait on the wall and the huge blackened hole that replaced it. "What the bloody hell happened?" he exclaimed. Sirius smirked as he opened a door about midway down the hall from Harry. "A story for another time, I think, son," he called to him.

Harry followed him down the hallway and awkwardly entered the open door into the family room of 12 Grimmauld Place. This was the same room with the family tree painted in it, Sirius's section still burnt off. Sirius followed him inside, leaving the door open. The room was dusty, but remained untouched almost always, so it was free of clutter. There was a fireplace present in here as well; however, it remained unused and the Flooing usually occurred in the living room. A broad window let daylight flood into the lilac-colored space, and Sirius squinted and covered his eyes at the brightness.

"What time is it?" he asked Harry. Looking at his watch, Harry replied, "About a quarter after 2 in the afternoon. Did you just wake up?" Sirius nodded and blinked against the light. Harry rolled his eyes and sat in one of the four chairs that circled a small, circular table in the room. Sirius sat in the chair across from him; conveniently, its back was to the window.

Harry cleared his throat and peered around the room. "Haven't been in here in a long time," he said, finally meeting Sirius' onyx eyes. Sirius simply stared back, his expression blank. Harry cleared his throat and scratched at his scar again.

"There has been an issue occur at the Ministry," Harry began warily. Sirius snorted again, and Harry's eyes flicked up to his eyes quickly. "A very serious issue, which pertains to you. We are confounded by a mystery that none of us really understand." Sirius' face went slack. His curiosity peaked, but a growing suspicion harbored itself in the back of his mind. Harry paused, and continued, "This is an area of magical bounds that we have very little experience in. There is little to no knowledge about the subject at hand. There are very few things in the magical world that the Ministry has not gone to great lengths in order to discover even the most minute details about; it is our job to understand these things in order to protect the magical world. However, there is a place within the Ministry itself which has not been explored. You know this place better than any living being in this realm. Sirius, we need you. We need your help."

Sirius felt a sick cold begin to spread into his stomach. This situation hardly felt real as his heart sank. He could tell what mystery place Harry was referring to. What else could Sirius understand more than the Ministry of Magic? What extensive knowledge did Sirius possess that the Ministry did not?

He began to shake his head slowly, sliding down in his chair, as Harry slid forward, toward him. Harry stretched out his hand to Sirius as if to touch him, but Sirius shrank from his hand. Harry's hand dropped to his lap.

"We need your help, Sirius," he whispered. "Something else was recovered from the Veil."


	2. Chapter 2

The water burned her eyes after a while of standing in it, but Hermione Granger didn't mind.

Her shower ran steadily over her as she stood in its stream. It was scathingly hot against her skin. The light behind her red shower curtain gave an eerie tint to the small cubicle and the bare woman inside of it.

Hermione's usually-wild, curly hair now hung in straight, soaked locks down her back and shoulders, a few small pieces glued to her face. Water dribbled from her brow into her brown eyes, over her face, and down the rest of her body as she stood very stilly in the ever-pouring stream. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, and despite the intensely-warm water, her palms were white and bloodless.

The shadows in her thoughts blinded her stinging eyes as she stared unwaveringly into the red-tinted wall before her. Her mind's eye was on a different day, under very different circumstances.

In one hand, she held a lock of black, curly hair. More of a knot, having been pulled out of a brush, it shone in the bright light of a Lumos-lit wand in her other hand.

Before her stood a man with wild eyes and hollow cheeks. His light brown hair was grown out, frizzing around his bearded face. Flecks of red glinted in his beard and hair. He was dressed in a long-sleeved white shirt, so soiled and torn, it looked dirty brown. His pants were dark and his feet shoeless and crusted with mud.

'Deatheater,' Hermione's mind whispered as she twisted her wand in her hand nervously, 'He will do.'

The Veil flowed in a nonexistent wind behind the man. He was a prisoner from Azkaban named Kilgore Smaut, brought here in secret by one Hermione Granger. He had killed Remus Lupin and admitted to killing others in the War against Voldemort, though it would never be clearly known how many. He had never repented and was sentenced to life in Azkaban; at least, his entire life until the Dementors got to him.

"Why the fuck am I here, Mudblood?" Smaut growled. His voice was gruff, full of venom and condescension. Hermione's jaw tightened at the racist slur, and at what she had planned for the man before her.

She silently stared into the man's eyes. He shuffled his feet, scooting forward slightly, away from the infamous Veil. His eyes shifted down to his feet as he did so, showing a small crack of anxiety and weakness in his narcissistic disposition. He was only a foot from the edge of the marble and the Veil; she was about arm's length from Smaut.

For the past three years, Hermione had one sole mission. She worked tirelessly and endlessly toward this goal. The Ministry quietly provided her with anything she asked for, supporting her as payment for her significant role in the War. They seemed to also be luring her toward becoming an Auror alongside her friends. For now, she worked diligently for only one cause and one cause alone: to bring Sirius Black back from the Veil.

The Veil was an untouched mystery for the Ministry for a very long time. Even how it came to be was a sort of enigma: some said it was a dark curse from centuries past, placed there as a sort of black hole for whoever happened across it; some believed it was a punishment created in medieval times for criminals sentenced to death; some even suggested that the Veil existed long before the magical community came together to form the Ministry of Magic.

Whatever the reason for it's coming into being, the Veil was avoided at all costs. It was often suggested that the Department of Mysteries and, indeed, the Ministry itself was built around the Veil so that it may be evaded. Many times, people had attempted to destroy it. Those people had been trapped in the Veil and were forever lost. One attribute of the strange magic of the Veil was its ability to lure people in.

Hermione heard the voices now. When she first came in contact with the Veil on the day Sirius had been lost in it, she heard nothing; now, after the gruesome slaughter of the War, she could almost distinguish the many hushed voices that reached out to her during her extended studies in the dungeon with the Veil. They drove her mad, yet pushed her to further find the voice which called to her belonging to Sirius Black.

Hermione had exhausted all of her resources to complete her mission. She had flipped millions of pages out of books about magic and the Veil. Her fingerprints were practically nonexistent and scars from paper cuts adorned her digits. She had prodded and pestered and pushed as many people as she could who might have information about the mystery she was slowly unfolding, even going as far as attempting to retrieve secrets from the minds of Unspeakables, though it is well-known that it is impossible to get information out of them because of their many binding spells. Hermione had made thousands of potions and spells, dabbling in both dark and light magic. All of this was done in secret.

For three years, she searched for answers about the Veil. Her mind and body were completely spent. She had no further resources. Only one option remained, and this, Kilgore Smaut stood before her. When she had quietly suggested to her superiors in the Ministry that she might need a person on this night who would not be missed, Smaut had been delivered to her with no hesitation or questions. The Ministry as a whole was as curious about the Veil as Hermione herself was. Their willingness to help was more than sufficient for Hermione's experiments.

So, here Smaut stood. Hermione's plan for him was in place. She had everything she needed to attempt to complete her mission. However, her resolve wavered. There was no promise that this would work. What was she willing to sacrifice in order to recover Sirius? Her hand with Her wand shook in its place pointed at Smaut's chest.

Smaut saw this and smirked, letting a mean cackle escape his grimy mouth. Cracked and blackened teeth could be seen behind his lips when he smiled. "Is Hermione Granger afraid of Kilgore Smaut?" he sneered. "Or is that somethin' else? I ain't been with a woman in quite some time..." Smaut leaned forward. Hermione's disgust peaked and resolve solidified once again. She stepped back and pointed her wand at the Veil behind the man.

"Mercor anima," she said, her wand never wavering. Smaut turned to face the Veil as the spell hit it. The Veil began to shimmer and flux like it was water, and the spell was a pebble being thrown in it. Hermione and Smaut audibly sucked in breaths at the sight. The Veil had never been known to change before.

Smaut turned back toward Hermione. "What the hell did you do?" he said, his voice now high-pitched and alarmed. Hermione stared into his beady, red-rimmed eyes with a blank expression on her face. His face was now lined with fear. He tried to step forward, away from the Veil, but Hermione pointed her wand at his face, and pressed the hand with the hair in it to his chest. For the split-second that they stared at each other, his face contorted with panic.

"No, please-," he began, attempting to push forward. As his foot left the ground, Hermione took her shot while he was unbalanced.

She pushed him backward into the shimmering Veil.

He began to scream, but was quickly cut off when his body sank behind the curtain. Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat as she grasped the knot of curly black hair still in her hand. 'If there is a god, please, have mercy on my soul,' she prayed silently as she closed her fist around the curls. She looked back up at the Veil and took in a shaking breath. She could see nothing beyond the black curtain. No trace of Smaut was left behind. She pointed her wand at the Veil once again.

"Revivisco anima," she whispered, her wand still. The red spell hit the shimmering Veil, and spread like blood throughout it. When it was completely red, it went ominously still and silent. Until now, the voices had continuously whispered behind the black curtain. Now, it was totally silent.

Hermione took a deep breath. Her heart was beating incredibly fast as she raised her hand with the hair in it up to the red, glassy surface. She held her breath as she touched her hand to the surface.

It did not pull her in. She slowly pushed her hand further inside, until the lock of hair was completely encased in the Veil. She waited just a second before pulling her hand back from it, finding that the hair was gone and her hand was painfully cold. She stumbled back, gripping her hand and gasping at the pain.

She fell to her knees about ten feet from the Veil, her eyes snapping back up as a vicious wind began snapping the Veil around. An intensely bright white light spilled from it, blinding her. Hermione held her hand up to block some of the light as her mind raced in both panic and excitement. Nothing like this had ever happened during any of her other experiments.

Suddenly, a shadow formed in the light. A shadow with a manly figure, about 6 feet tall, with long, curly hair. As the shadow moved closer and through the Veil, Hermione's heart rose into her throat.

Sirius Black stood before her, the blinding light still behind him. His eyes were open, but obviously unseeing as he stared out.

The light began to fade behind him, and Hermione stood and slowly approached the man, who stood still before her. He looked exactly like he did the day he was lost, except a burnt spot on the chest of his black suit, presumably from Bellatrix's curse that forced him into the Veil.

"Sirius?" she questioned, quietly but distinctly. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, his eyes slowly registered signs of life and his face turned toward her.

"Hermione?" He said, his voice crackling. She walked toward him, her heart swelling. He blinked a few times, and looked around. "What the hell is going on?" he asked her, then fell face-first into Hermione's arms.

Hermione's mind snapped back to the present as the water in her shower ran cold.

She yanked back the curtain, goose bumps raising on her skin as she turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around herself.

Hermione faced her mirror and rubbed her arm across it to wipe away the condensation which had settled there. As she stared at her own face, she could not shake the prickling feeling that she was being watching. Suddenly, a sharp tapping sounded from the window behind her, causing her to jump.

Her heart leapt as she simultaneously grabbed her wand from the edge of the sink and whipped around, pointing it toward the noise.

A white-spotted brown owl peered at her with it's head cocked to the left. Hermione let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding and lowered her wand. The owl tapped on the window again, seemingly impatient to get the message attached to it's leg removed. She stepped forward and opened the window, taking the note and patting the majestic bird on it's head.

"Thank you," she whispered. The owl nuzzled into her hand for a moment, then took off to return to wherever it had come from.

Hermione watched it fly until it was a speck on the rising sun. She glanced down at the single roll of paper in her hand. Unravelling it, she walked back toward her sink. The wind from her window dried a few strands of her hair and it tickled her shoulders.

Written on the paper were these words: "Report to the Department of Mysteries upon arrival to the Ministry of Magic. -KS"

Hermione blanched as she read this and unconsciously crushed the paper in her clenching fist.

Nothing good ever came from the Department of Mysteries.

She quickly began to get ready for what would be sure to be a day to remember.


End file.
